contemplations
by wih
Summary: after 'Halfwitt' Wilson thinks about House and their friendship and more... no slash
1. Chapter 1

This is something I came up with after watching the „Half-witt" episode, because Wilson's reaction to House being so depressed, he faked cancer to get drugs, really bugged me. I mean, he laughed, suggested Pizza and a movie, laughed again and left????? That's certainly not the way I would react – well, I reacted – to such news. So I can only assume he did it out of sheer disbelief and helplessness.

But enough bla...bla...

**Contemplations**

Wilson went to his office and shut the door behind him.He walked towards his desk and collapsed into the chair. He sat there staring into space for a second, then shook his head in disbelief and said quietly to himself „What the hell, did you just do?"

He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. If anyone had seen him right now they would have said that he looked tired and worried and maybe like someone on the verge of giving up. He kept staring into space, while in his mind, everything he knew and felt about House, seemed to be running in circles.

His friend was depressed, and what was the worst about it, was that he didn't want to admit it. Wilson knew that the way to getting better only went over accepting something was wrong. But getting House to admit something was wrong, was like Sysiphos-work, the moment you thought you had accomplished it, you realized you had to start from the beginning again. And Wilson was tired of fighting the same fight over and over again.

He thought back to the time, when he had first realized that his friendship with House might become a tough one. It was shortly after the infarction and House had come down from group-therapy one afternoon and announced he wasn't going back – ever. Wilson, surprised, had asked why.

„Because it's useless. I'm supposed to be the one who gets treated and I always end up, solving other peoples problems. I'm sick of it! Today the _therapist_ asked _me_ for advice for his marriage." He stomped his crutches on the floor for emphasis. „I mean – what am I, a fucking shrink? I hate people, I hate their stupid little problems, I hate their whining about them. They should all go and do what a sensible person does. Deal with it on their own."

With that he had turned around and left Wilsons office, and Wilson had sat there and stared after his friend, dreading what might come. Shortly afterwards Stacy had left House and the spiral into depression had begun to start revolving even faster.

Wilson had done his best to help House, to be there for him, turn his life around again. But so far, every attempt had been a failure. House simply refused to acknowledge anything that might actually help him, if it came from another person. When Wilson realized, that talking didn't help, he had resorted to manipulative tactics, most of which involved Cuddy's help, but still he didn't get anywhere.

When they'd gotten House to go off Vicodin for a week a couple years back, and House admitted to being an addict, Wilson had at first thought he might have made a breakthrough. For one glorious, fleeting second he actually believed his friend had taken the first step to recovery. But House crushed his hopes with one comment. „I don't have a problem."

But Wilson hadn't given up. He had talked House into trying the ketamine-treatment. But again, he had failed. When Tritter turned up and House went from bad to worse, Wilson thought about giving up, for the first time. He'd thought, that maybe forcing House to face the worst, loosing his licence, was going to change something. And again, he had been fooled into hoping he had achieved something. When House went into rehab and even apologized to him, this crazy, happy feeling of hope had returned. Only to be crushed again...

And now this...

Wilson felt tears prickling in his eyes. He swallowed hard and laughed at his own foolishness. Why was he doing this to himself? Why did he even bother? Why didn't he just let it be. But he knew asking this question was pointless. He would never stop caring and worrying about House, because House was his friend. His best friend and the one constant in his own screwed-up life.

It wasn't just that House needed him, he needed House as well. He was fully aware of that fact. He just wished it could be easier. He wished there was something he could do. Some way to make House understand that life didn't necessarily meant having to suffer. He shook his head again.

He wished this hollow feeling in his chest would go away. Ever since Foreman had told him, about House faking cancer to get drugs, he felt like some part of him was missing, gone into hiding or a coma from shock... or something like this... Maybe that was why he had reacted so stupid. He gave a hollow laugh again, at the memory. „Get some pizza with a friend." Yeah, right...

He felt tired, so tired and empty. So far he had gotten nowhere, on the contrary, House was getting steadily worse. Was there even a point in trying, anymore? He massaged the back of his neck and decided, that he wouldn't solve this problem tonight. Maybe if he slept over it. Tomorrow would be a new day... maybe it brought the answer. Wilson had always been a postive person, he had always believed that things would turn out right, eventually. He only wished that in House's case 'eventually' would come before it was too late.

He decided to call it a day and go home. He needed food and rest. He got up, grabbed his coat and bag and headed out. He walked to his car and got inside, but didn't start it yet. He realized, that he felt emotionally exhausted. And some small part of him, was complaining about all this, not being fair. Why was it always him, who had to give? What had House ever done, to deserve Wilson worrying about him so much? He sighed again, it felt like the millionth sigh of the day. Maybe he should just give up.

He started the car and drove off.

He was lying in bed later, his mind still on the same subject. No, he told himself. He wouldn't give up, and House deserved his help. If only, because noone else had the strength or volition to care. House was his friend and he always would be. One day House would understand that too. One day things would be better again... He drifted off to sleep.

I might continue (depends on the following episodes... and my imagination), but for now it's a one-shot.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Ok, it's officially a 'non-one-shot' now... although I don't really know were this is going... bear with me. Thanks for the great reviews so far. 

Any more Reviews and Suggestions are appreciated. :-)

Why do people like to see other people suffer? Wilson thought. What kind of perverse pleasure made people wallow in other people's misery? Or was it, that it reminded them of their own suffering, or their own happiness? God, where was he even going, thinking about such stuff in the middle of the night. Where had the thought come from in the first place?

He probably shouldn't have emptied that half a bottle of scotch...

He got up and went to the bathroom. He turned the tab on and splashed the icy water on his face. He needed to get some rest. Shut off his brain and go to sleep. He looked at himself in the mirror. His tired face stared back at him.

„Shut up!" he said to himself, sternly. „Shut up, and go to sleep!"

He turned abruptly and walked back to the bed. He sunk on the uncomfortably soft matress, pulled the covers up and closed his eyes. „Just sleep." he told himself. But sleep wouldn't come. Instead came images, memories, hopes, fears, worries; each following the other, like a long procession of all his failures in life.

„You need to be needed." he heard a familiar voice ring in his head. Was that the answer? Was that why people liked to see other people suffer, because it gave them the sense of being needed. Did people subconsciously judge their life by the amount of help they were able to provide? If that was so, wouldn't it make him the lowest person ever, because he enjoyed being needed?

Did he enjoy being needed? Wilson sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, he had to say that, on some level, yes, he enjoyed it. He had always assumed, that he enjoyed being able to help, to make things right, to make people feel better, but ever since House had thrown that sentence at him, he could't help himself, but admit that his friend was right. At least partially.

He shoved the thought to the back of his head, rolled over and tried to find the one comfortable spot on this damn bed. „Go to sleep." he told himself again. But his thoughts wouldn't listen to his pleading. They came back, like a stray dog, you had once thrown the reminder of your sandwich to.

God, if he didn't stop this soon, he'd be the one with a drepression. Maybe he could use House's idea and get some cool new drug implanted in his brain. Something that would shut up those shitty-worse-than-useless thoughts that kept nagging him. Maybe he should steal House's Vicodin. It would serve him right, he was the reason Wilson was feeling bad in the first place.

He laughed quietly at himself, thinking of the scene House would make, if he discovered Wilson had stolen his drugs...

Then he thought of the joints he had stashed in his office. Medication for his cancer patients. Maybe...

Wilson found himself sitting in his office, it was dark, he hadn't bothered to turn on the light. He looked at his watch, 2.34 am. His eyes traveled to the small white object in his right hand... then to the lighter in his left... his last time had been in college and he didn't have very good memories of it. He shrugged... to hell with it...

„Wilson!" someone was shaking him roughly by the shoulders. The voice was loud, too loud. A blinding light shone first into one eye, then the other. „Wilson, are you high?"

Wilson waved his hand, uncoordinated. „nooo..." he muttered.

„You're high! At least, you have been recently." the voice said again. This time it wasn't a question, it was a statement. Wilson could hear the voice laughing. „Stealing drugs from your dying cancer-kids. That's not very noble."

„Shut up. House." Wilson muttered, his voice a little stronger. He opened his eyes and squinted at the light. He was sitting on the floor of his office, his back against the side of the table. House was kneeling in front of him, watching him with those intense blue eyes, a smirk on his face. Wilson could feel himself blush, this was embarrassing. He must have fallen asleep or fainted, sometime in the past hours.

„And there I was, thinking I'm the only depressed drug-addict in this hospital." House ignored his comment. „You should have told me, we could have opened a club, gotten high together..."

Wilson pushed House aside and stood up. He felt sick. And tired. And his head hurt. The memories of the last night returned and with them the memories of his thoughts. He screwed up his face, trying to put some sense into the world again.

„I think I should go home." he said lamely, after a minute. House had just been standing there, watching him closely. „I'll call Cuddy and tell her I've got one of those 24hour bugs. What time is it?"

„Eight thirty. If you take the back-stairs, you'll probably make it out of the hospital, without anyone seeing you. I'll meet you at your car. You can't drive right now." House added as an explanation.


	3. Chapter 3

Later 

Wilson was lying on House's couch. House had refused to drive him to his hotelroom and dumped him off at his place instead. He had literally ordered Wilson to camp on his sofa, get some sleep and eat something decent later. Then he had left for the hospital again, threatening to call in two hours, to check on him.

Now he was lying on House's couch... again. Somehow it felt more familiar than the bed he'd slept on for the past few months. Somehow, over the past years, he had started to feel more at home in House's appartment than in his own place. He remembered the time, he'd lived here, after Julie broke up with him. The memories made him smile.

He closed his eyes and drifted off...

Wilson woke to the phone ringing.At first he wanted to ignore it, but then he remembered House's promise, to call. He slowly got up, feeling dizzy and nauseous. He made a mental note to order some take-out-chinese-food, once he'd finished the phonecall.

„Hey." he croaked into the phone.

„Wow, you sound like you've been to a Rammstein-concert."

„Thanks."

„So, how'd you feel?"

„I'll live." Wilson put out a hand to stop the room from spinning.

„Have you eaten anything yet?"

„No, but I'm going to order something the moment you stop nagging me."

„Good. I'll see you tonight then." House hung up.

Wilson put the phone down and put his head in his hands. What had he done? But the question was pushed away by another one. Why had House just called? Even more importantly, what had House been doing at the hospital at 8.30 in the morning; and why had he been so uncharacteristically nice and taken him home...to his, House's home? Did House actually care about him...or was this some kind of weird joke, he didn't get.

Wilson reached for the phone again. But he wasn't dialling the take-out-place. He had to know.

„What were you doing in the hospital at eight thirty in the morning?" Wilson asked, the moment House was on the line.

„Why do you want to know?" Wilson could tell from the tone, that House's face was pulled into one of his defensive frowns.

„Just answer me." he didn't have the energy to play House's 'guess-what-I'm-not-telling' game.

He could hear House sigh. „I went over to your hotel this morning and you weren't there. So I went to your office to see if you were already in." He answered, without really answering the question.

Wilson frowned. „Why did you come to my hotel? You're never even up before ten to nine. Are you alright?" he couldn't keep the concern out of his voice.

House chuckled. „You know, Jimmy, sometimes I think you're never going to learn."

„Learn what?"

„You can't worry about everyone all the time. It's not good for you. It makes you steal hashish from your cancer-kids."

„I'm not worrying about everyone." Wilson said defensively. „I worry about you."

„All the time."

„I have reasons, haven't I. You never cease to give them."

„I'm sorry." House's voice sounded honest and serious.

„Are you really?" Wilson couldn't believe it. House never apologized. He had even denied, his apology in rehab had been for real. Although Wilson liked to believe it had been.

„Yeah. I mean it."

Wilson swallowed. His vision was suddenly blurry. He rubbed the base of his right hand roughly over his eyes.

„Anything else you like to know?" House's tone was business-like again.

„No. Not right now. I'll see you tonight." Wilson hung up.

He sat there, his head in his hands, mulling over the conversation he'd just had. Then he abruptly jerked his head back, as he realized something. House had just apologized, _and_ he had admitted it afterwards. And he obviously cared about him, no – better, he had actually _taken_ care of him.

Wilson couldn't remember an occasion when House had honestly shown so much concern for his well-being. Sure, he'd always know, somewhere deep down, that House valued him and their friendship, but he'd long since given up the hope of him to actually, actively show it.

Usually it was him, Wilson, who was there when something was wrong with House. It was always Wilson, who was picking up the pieces and trying to glue them back together. He always took care of House, never the other way round. Except this morning. This morning House had taken care of him. And not, because Wilson had asked him to, but of his own accord.

Did this mean, House was taking his advice; that he was willing to change? That things were getting better? He almost didn't dare hope. He had been disappointed to often, but despite his best efforts, he could feel the weight in his chest lift a little. And it was a good feeling.

They were sitting on the couch, watching TV. Wilson had eaten and slept and felt almost back to his normal self again.

„So, why'd you get stoned last night?" House suddenly asked, his eyes still focused on the TV.

„I don't know." Wilson lied. He didn't want to talk about it, right now. He just wanted to forget it ever happened and pretend everything was alright.

House wasn't going to give in that easily. „Yeah, you do." He still didn't look at Wilson.

„Alright, maybe I do know, but I don't want to talk about it." Wilson snapped an little sharper than he'd intended to.

„I just want to know, why mommas favourite, unfailable, 'I always do the right thing'-wonder-boy oncologist suddenly feels the need to get stoned." This time, House turned his head and his blue eyes bored into Wilson.

„Shut up!" Wilson voice was angry.

For once in his life, House took the 'hint' and complied, although he kept eyeing his friend warily for a while, before turning back to the TV.

Wilson leaned his head back against the couch-cushions and closed his eyes. 'Great', he thought, 'thanks a bunch, House, you've managed to do it again. I feel like complete shit.' A part of him wanted to say it out loud, but that would mean having to explain himself and he didn't want this conversation to continue.

'mommas favourite, unfailable wonder-boy' House's words rang through his head. Yeah, he'd hid the nail on the head... once again. Except, that he wasn't unfailable and he was sick of people expecting things from him.

The list was endless: Cuddy expected him to keep House in check and do his work properly... House's team expected him to keep House in a good enough mood, so he didn't lash out at them too much... His patients expected him to cure their cancer... His parents expected him to be the good son... His wife expected... well, that was over, at least. No more wifes to expect anything.

On the other hand, no wife meant disapointing the expectations his parents had for him: to give them grandchildren, to keep the family traditions alive, to live the perfect little life they'd imagined for their sons. He couldn't remember a time when he didn't feel the weight of _that_ expectation on his shoulders.

Especially after his brother had run off and vanished. He had always felt, as if his parents had shifted the expectations they'd had for his brother, onto his shoulders afterwards. As if he had to do extra well, now that his brother wasn't there anymore to hold up his end.

He remembered the day he went to college. „You'll do well." his father had said to him, in a tone, that wasn't actually hopefull, but certain. And the day he'd graduated from med-school his father had said in the same certain tone „I knew you'd do well." Somehow it didn't really sound like praise, as if there had never been any doubt about the outcome of his sons studies.

He also remembered his mothers words, that day. „Now, you just have to find yourself a nice girl, to settle down with." One goal achieved, the next set up...

Well, he'd failed at that one, so far. Not that his parents ever actually reproached him for it. He knew they loved him and first and formost wanted him to be happy, but everytime he visited them he couldn't miss the look on his mother's face, when she asked him about his love-life. That guarded-dare-I-hope look, he always hated to disappoint. Wilson sighed.

„You do know, that noone expects you to fix everything and everyone and be a perfect being, right? Not even Superman can do that and he's a super-hero." House's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

„Huh?!" Wilson opened his eyes, amazed again, at how House always managed to know exactly what he was thinking.

„That frown on your face. You always look like that, when you think your the biggest failure in the world. Mostly happens after you've told a patient he's gonna die, or you've visited your parents recently." House said, matter-of-factly. „What's it this time?"

„Still don't want to talk about it." Wilson muttered.

„Fine. I'm going to bed. You can crash on my couch. If you change your mind about the talking-thing, _don't_ wake me up."

maybe tbc


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for the reviews so far people. I've had another brain-boost... or something like that (probably due to the constant snowing today...), so I decided to keep going... 

To anyone who is expecting this to turn into a H/W slash story, i've got to tell you, I don't think it is going to. So far I'm only planning on strong H/W friendship. We'll see where it goes...

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Wilson woke up with his back hurting. He opened his eyes and was momentarily a little confused as to where he actually was, then he remembered. He'd camped on House's couch...again. He got up and looked around the livingroom, trying to decide, what to do next. He glanced at his watch.

8:07 am.

Great!, he had to be at the hospital in an hour. He remembered he had clinic-duty first thing in the morning. Even greater! He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced down at the rumpled clothes he had been wearing for two days. He couldn't possibly show up at work looking like that! Putting on his shoes he decided to take a cab to his hotelroom, shower, change and then take a cab to the hospital. His car was (hopefully) still parked in front of it, so he'd be able to get home later, without spending all his money on cabs.

He sneaked out of House's appartment and did as planned.

It was 11:52 when Wilson decided that the next patient would be the last one of the day. At least when it came to clinic-patients. He knew he had a full schedule of cancer-patients from 12:30 pm. untill at least six. He grabbed a file from the counter and headed for Exam-Room Three.

„Hello, My name's Dr. Wilson. What can I do for you?" he asked with a fake-friendly smile. His head ached.

„Hi, I think I might have broken my hand." The patient was a girl, probably in her late teens or early twenties. She held her left hand up and Wilson could see a large bruise covering her knuckles.

„Okay!" He opened the file and took out the X-ray of the girls hand. Fortunately it had already been done, so he could probably finish this quickly. He looked at the X-ray.

„Mmmhh. You're lucky. It isn't broken." he put the X-ray down and examined the hand. „Yeah, it's just a bruise. It's gonna hurt for a few days, but you'll be fine, no lasting damage." he looked up at her face reassuringly and was just in time to see a flicker of ... what exactly... disappointment?... pass over it. He got suspicious.

„How exactly did this happen?" He asked, keeping his tone light and casual.

„Ehh... it was stupid really. I tripped and crashed my hand against the wall. Left a nice dent in it too." the girl attempted a grin. She glanced down at her hand and Wilson caught another strange expression... annoyance mixed again, with disappointment.

„An accident, huh?" He couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice.

The girl looked up at him again. „What? You think I'm lying? Why would I lie about this?"

„I don't know." Wilson decided to be blunt about it. „Maybe you were in a fight. Maybe someone tried to hit you first. Maybe you did it on purpose, to hurt yourself." He didn't quite know where that last statement had come from, untill he realized that the bruise reminded him of House and the time he'd broken his own fingers on purpose during detox.

He had been looking straight into the girls face, when he said those things and the way she flinched at the last statement, told him he had hit the jackpot. At that point, a part of him was getting angry, because he always seemed to get stuck with psychos; another part of him immediatly switched into helper-mode, wanting to find out what was wrong and fix it.

„I didn't want to hurt myself." The girl said stubbornly. „I'm not crazy!"

„But you hit the wall on purpose." Wilson's helper-mode won.

She glared at him for a few seconds before giving in. „Yeah... I was... angry..."

„About something particular, or just generally?" Wilson tried to keep the conversation light.

She shrugged. „Just generally. I just felt like hitting something." She looked at the floor. „You have to let your anger out, sometimes, or it eats you up inside."

„Well, why don't you use a punching-ball next time. Less danger of breaking any bones." He smiled at her. Wondering if it was ok to just leave the topic be.

The girl smiled back at him. „I'll try. Thanks." She hopped of the examination-table. „Anything else I need to know, or are we done?"

„Nope. Just let the hand rest and heal. And stay away from ager-provoking topics." Wilson joked, as the girl left the room.

Later he sat in his office and thought about what the girl had said. 'You have to let your anger out, sometimes, or it eats you up inside.' Yeah, she was right, he knew exactly what that felt like. The anger would eat you up and leave you feeling hollow and depressed, depressed enough to steal your patients pot and get high... No... don't even go there, he told himself. He didn't have time for self-pity, he had patients to deal with. People with more pressing problems than a sucking social-life.

That evening Wilson sat in his hotelroom, watching TV, without much interest. His thoughts kept going back to the events of the last days. He tried to shoo them away, but as usual, it didn't work.

He saw Cameron, as she came into his office looking angry and desperate. „You know what House did?" She'd asked him without preamble and then started recounting what had happened when they'd told him he didn't have cancer. Wilson could feel the emotions welling up inside him, once again. He didn't even realize that he'd gotten off the bed and was pacing the hotelroom.

He felt it all again. The relief, that House wasn't dying, the disbelief at what he'd tried to pull, the feeling of having been betrayed, played with... the anger.

The anger surged through his body and into his arm... his fist. Without thinking, he struck out. The drywall crunched beneath his fist. He felt the pain shoot up his arm and looked at his hand, shocked. He looked at the wall, there was a visible dent, matching the shape of his knuckles.

He grinned stupidly, well at least he didn't punch a hole in it. His hand hurt like hell, but somehow, he was feeling kind of good. Better than he had been feeling these past days. Hell, that girl had been right after all...

He gingerly moved his fingers, trying to assess the damage. Nope, nothing broken, but he would have a nice bruise tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I'm not perfectly happy with this chapter, for various reasons, but I put it in anyway, because it gives more inside into some parts of the last chapter. Hope it's not too dramatic or unbelievable... ;-)

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„So, tell me. How'd you get that fantastic bruise on your knuckles? Barfight?" House and Wilson were on their way to the car-park, ready to call it a day.

Wilson furrowed his eyebrows and looked down at his hand. „No. I... I... tripped and accidently crashed my hand into the wall."

House squinted sideways at his friend. „Riiiight."

„What? You don't believe me?"

„I... What the hell...?!"

Wilson had seen it at the same moment. He dropped his bag and sprinted towards the curb, his eyes fixed on the person standing there, but being very aware of the oncoming car. He grabbed the girls arm and yanked her backward, just in time before she jumped in front of the car. They lost their balance and tumbled backwards. By the time they had disentangled themselves and gotten up, House had joined them.

„Why'd you do that!" the girl fumed, glaring at Wilson.

„What... I... Hey you're that girl with the broken hand, from the clinic yesterday!" Wilson gasped in amazement instead of an answer.

„Except that my hand isn't broken." She looked at him coldly.

„What the hell were you trying to do? Kill yourself?" Wilson's eyes were wide with shock.

„What? No!"

„It bloody well looked like it."

„I don't think she tried to kill herself." House chimed in calmly. He was eyeing the girl curiously. „That car did, what, 8 or 10 miles/h, way too slow for a killing machine. It probably would have broken some bones, though. You looking for a way to skip school?"

„No. I'm not at school anymore. And anyway it's holidays right now." the girl now glared at House.

„Then why'd you do it?" House seemed genuinely intrigued.

„Does it matter? She's obviously mental. We should get her admitted or something..." Wilson broke in, still sounding rather upset.

„I'm not mental! I was just... curious..." she trailed off.

„CURIOUS? About what?" Wilson half-yelled.

The girl shrugged. She suddenly looked more embarrassed than angry. „I just wanted to know what it's like to break something."

House grinned. Wilson felt exasperated.

„This... This is... the most crazy thing I've ever heard!" Wilson flailed his hands around. „And you lied to me yesterday. You said you punched a wall because you where angry, but in truth you..." He pointed his finger at the girl.

„Oh, come on Jimmy. It's not that crazy." House said casually.

„What?" Wilson looked back and forth between House and the girl, trying to decide which of them was more crazy. He shook his head. This was just too much. Everybody was going nuts!

„Have you never wondered what it might feel like to do something you haven't done before?" the girl asked him.

„Well... yes. But that doesn't mean I'm actually going to do it, if it's dangerous to my health."

„Really? Then your life must be very boring."

House grinned even wider. „Ahh... you see Jimmy, that's what I always tell you. Do something unexpected and dangerous every week and life's much more bearable."

„You're both mental! I should get straight-jackets." Wilson tried once again. He thought about having the girl admitted, she obviously was a danger to herself and to society. He looked over at House to see if he would get any support from him, if he proposed that idea.

House looked back at him, his expression turning serious for a moment, then he winked in a way that told Wilson, to leave it to him. House turned back to the girl.

„You know, I was wondering about the same thing, when I was your age. I had never broken anything in my life and all the other boys kept bragging about how much it hurt. So I climbed up a tree... really high... and then I jumped. You know what happend?"

The girl shook her head. „No."

House indicated his leg. „This happened. I broke my leg so badly, they couldn't fix it again. So I have to walk around with a cane everyday for the rest of my life. And the worst of all is, it constantly hurts."

„How bad?" the girl sounded impressed. She obviously believed House's story. Wilson wondered briefly how House had become such a good liar.

„It differs. Sometimes it's so bad, I want to crawl into bed and die. On good days I just want to scream my lungs out." Wilson could tell that this time House told the truth.

He felt goosebumps rise on his arms. Everytime, House mentioned the pain in his leg, Wilson wished he could take some of it away, take it on himself, so his friend could have some rest. He barely listened to the following sentences.

„You know what's worst?"

„What?" At that question from the girl, Wilson tuned in again.

„Now, everytime I get curious about something that involves the use of to healthy legs, I can't try it out, because... you see, I only have one left."

„So, what you're trying to tell me is: 'Don't try to break something, you'll regret it later'." The girl looked stubborn again.

„No. I'm not trying to tell you anything. It's your life. I don't even know you, I don't give a damn about what happens to you."

„Right. If that's all, can I go now? I have to meet someone." When House shrugged, she turned around and left, completely ignoring Wilson.

Wilson stared after her untill she was out of earshot. Then he turned to House. „So that's it? We just let her leave? What if she tries it again?"

„Relax. She's not gonna try again. You might not believe it, but I'm actually quite good at scaring kids away from doing bad stuff."

„Oh, I believe you. I'm even willing to believe that your story actually stops her from doing something stupid. What I don't get is, _why_ you did it?" He pointed a finger at House. „It's not your thing; doing something good for another person. Much less for someone you don't know."

„Ahh... see, that's were you're wrong." House waved his cane around for emphasis. „I'm only nasty to people I know. I'm all fluffy and cuddly when it comes to strangers. People who don't know me, love me."

„Right." Wilson put his hands on his hips, but couldn't stop a grin from spreading over his face.

„So." House said, and started walking towards his car again, looking smug. „I take it, that girl gave you the idea of punching a wall?! Trying to release some anger?"

„What would make you think that?" Wilson followed House.

„Your bruises match."

Wilson just shook his head behind House's back. He should have known, there was no way, you could hide something from House.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I love the following chapter, mainly because the idea for it came to me during a particularly annoying work-day and just thinking about it, made me smile. 

Seriously, there is nothing worse than a sunny Saturday-afternoon, when all the crazy people come crawling out of their homes to go on a shopping spree... and you're the one working at one of those shops...

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„Do you know, what the weird lawyer did today?"

House and Wilson where sitting in House's apartment on House's couch and watching 'Rocky III' for the hundredth time. They both knew the lines by heart, so they weren't actually paying too much attention. Wilson turned to face House, genuinly intrigued.

„No, What did he do?"

House smirked. He waited before answering, knowing the curiosity was killing Wilson. When Wilson decided to give in and say something, to get House to talk, he finally continued.

„He came on to Chase."

„He did _not_!"

„I'm telling you. He did. I saw it with my own eyes. Although, coming to think of it, I kinda wish I hadn't. The mental scarring..." House trailed off.

„What did Chase do?" Wilson had completely forgotten about the movie.

„At first he didn't get it and when he did, he..." House snickered.

„Oh... come on, tell me!" Wilson prodded.

„He completely freaked. It was hilarious! You should have seen it. He practically jumped three feet backwards, pressed his files against his chest, as if they were going to safe him."

House was laughing heartily at that. Wilson couldn't help but join in. He could vividly imagine what had happened. Chase's horrified face, mouth half open, eyes bulging...

„Yeah." House gasped, trying to catch his breath. „Then he faked an appointment and basically ran off. It was better than watching General Hospital."

„So, d'you think their going to end up together? Maybe Chase is getting a sex-change too, like weird lawyers previous two girlfriends." Wilson asked when they had calmed down a little.

House cocked his head to one side, apparently pondering the possibility.

„He _does_ have the fitting hair-care products..." he said eventually. They broke into giggles again.

They kept going like this for a while, chatting about collegues, their assumptions growing more and more wild, untill Wilson decided it was time to go home, well, back to his hotelroom. He had to get an apartment soon, he told himself as he started the car.

On the way home Wilson mused over the last hours. He smiled, it had been a great evening, almost like in old times... before the leg...

He saw House's laughing face in his minds eye and realized it had been ages since he'd last seen him laughing. Not just smiling or grinning or sniggering, but actually laughing a full belly-laugh. The memory of it made Wilson feel almost giddy with happiness.

He thought about the scene he had witnessed earlier this day. He had made up his mind to invite House for lunch, this time, before House could invite himself again. Because it was such nice weather he had gone onto the balcony and, being too lazy to go back in, through his office and down the corridor to House's office, he had climbed over the little dividing wall and intended to try and jump on House.

He was nearing House's balcony door, when he heard the music drifting out of his friends office. He had quietly stepped closer and peered inside, intrigued by the kind of music he was hearing. He peered inside.

House was sitting in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk, his head laid back, listening to the music. Wilson could see that his eyes were closed and that he was mouthing the lyrics. Wilson stepped closer tentativly, he didn't want to disturb House before he'd found out what was going on.

Because, the music he could hear was definitely not something you usually heard coming from House's office. It was the kind of music House would frown at and call schmoopy, pathetic or boring. Wilson recognized the song, it was one of his own favourites.

..._ I wish I knew how it would feel to be free._

_I wish I could break all the chains holding me._

_I wish I could say all the things I should say._

_Say 'em loud, say 'em clear, for the whole wide world to hear..._

Wilson stood, watching House in amazement. What a strange thing his friend was. He'd never have thought House would actually listen to a song like that, much less know the lines by heart...

It took him another thirty seconds to realize how calm and relaxed House looked. His hands weren't fiddling around and he was sitting perfectly still.

Wilson had smiled quietly to himself, turned around and gone back to his office. He had given House another couple minutes, before he had gone to his office (the front door, this time.) knocked at the door and entered to ask him about lunch.

Wilson hadn't had much time to think more about it. The day had been busy and afterwards House had practically kidnapped him to watch Rocky together...

His own voice rang in his head again. „Start small House, take a chance ... pizza with a friend, a movie, something..."

It seemed, for once in his life, House had taken his advice. Wilson couldn't figure out why, but the truth was, it didn't really matter. What mattered was, that House _was_ trying. And he was trying something he, Wilson, had suggested.

Wilson laughed a little, not at anything in particular, but just because it felt good to be laughing. He realized what a difference it made, to be able to laugh out of happiness. He hadn't been laughing like that for a while. Sure, he'd laughed at jokes and other silly things, but that was different. He'd almost forgotten how good it was.

That night, just before he fell asleep, Wilson sent a little prayer upwards. 'Please let this be true. Let things get better.' He drifted off into a deep, contented sleep.

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A/N: In case anyone is wondering: The song is „I Wish" by Lighthouse Family

An' A luv i'... (sorry, that was me, practising my cornish accent... I'll need it in one week... guess why... yeeha)


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: this is a rather short chapter, but I wanted to put it seperately. The next one will be much longer...

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The next morning when Wilson drove to work, he set his Ipod on random, to listen to some music.

The first song started and after a couple seconds Wilson realized, it was the same one he'd found House listen to, yesterday. The memories brought a smile on his face and he let the song wash over him. When it was finished, he reached over and pressed repeat.

Listening to the lyrics it struck him how much the song fit House. He pondered that thought for a while. Yes, it did fit and on several levels too... He wondered if that was why House had listened to it, even though it wasn't his kind of music.

Wilson knew that House wished he hadn't had the infaction, or at least that they'd diagnosed it earlier, before the damage had become irreparable. He knew that House felt chained down by his disability. Hell, who in that situation wouldn't feel that way?

But Wilson also knew, that House was chained down too, by his inability to trust people and to accept help from them. He just wasn't sure if House realized it too. Sure, people, and especially Wilson, had told House over and over again, but he'd never really admitted he was aware of it. Much less that it might be a problem. Wilson wondered if House secretly wished he could change.

Maybe inviting him over and swaping stupid stories, was House's attempt to reach out and bond with someone. Well, it wasn't a very bright idea doing it with Wilson, who already was his friend, but Wilson remembered his own advice „Start small.". House hated doing something, when he wasn't sure of the outcome. Knowing House, he'd probably run a few tests on people already close to him, just to make sure things couldn't go too wrong. That was, of course, only if he actually tried to change his relationships with people. With House you could never be sure of his intentions. Wilson shrugged to himself. For know he'd hope that he was right and watch House's further actions, like he always did.


	8. Chapter 8

House stuck his head through Wilson's office-door. „Hey Wilson, 'you free this afternoon?" 

Wilson looked up from his paperwork, furrowing his brows in suspicion. „Why?"

„Just answer my question!" House demanded, his eyes glinting in the way, they always did when he was up to something. Wilson paused, thinking. House seemed to be in an especially good mood today. Was this a good sign or a bad sign?

„Hellooo, earth to Jimmy. Are you still there?"

Wilson sighed and answering House's former question, he said: „Yeah, I guess. My last appointment is at 2:45, so I should be finished here shortly after three." He rubbed the back of his neck. „What's going on?" He tried again.

„Not telling!" House yelled as he pulled his head back and let the door fall close.

At seven past three, Wilson walked over to House's office. House was sitting behind his desk, ready to go, twiddling his cane between his fingers. On seeing Wilson he got up and limped over.

„Finally!" he exclaimed, as if Wilson had made him wait outside in pouring rain for hours. They headed for the elevator and then to the car-park.

House followed Wilson to his car. So, we're going somewhere together. Wilson thought a little stupidly, that means, he'll have to tell me where we're going... At that moment House snatched his car keys from his hand. „I'm driving."

„The hell you are. It's my car. Give me back my keys!" Wilson tried vainly. He knew he had no chance of winning.

House just grinned smugly and walked over to the drivers side. „Come on, get in, I haven't got all day." He exclaimed, when Wilson didn't move. Wilson sighed again and conplied.

The drive didn't last very long. All the way, Wilson tried to get House to tell him what was going on, but House just shook his head and refused to speak. Eventually he parked in front of an apartment building.

They got out and House headed for the entrance, waving Wilson along. Wilson shook his head and asked himself for the hundredth time what was going on. Well, whatever it was, it seemed like he would find out soon.

They got onto the elevator and rode up to the third floor. Then House led him down the corridor and towards a door marked 3-12. Wilson furrowed his brows again and stared at House. House just ignored him and knocked.

The door opened and a woman in her mid-forties, looking professional, appeared. „Mr. Wilson?"

House smiled his bestest fake-friendly smile and answered „Exactly. Well, that's Dr. Wilson, I'm a friend."

The woman beamed at them. „Great. I've been waiting for you. Come on in."

With a sense of foreboding Wilson followed House into the apartment. As it turned out, the apartment was completely empty. Wilson stood there, looked around what seemed to be the living-room and tried to make sense of it all.

„Well, gentlemen. I'll leave you to look around. I'll be in the kitchen, if you have any questions." With that she left.

„House, what's this supposed to mean?" Wilson asked, the moment she was out of earshot.

„Isn't it obvious?" House raised his eyebrows as if this had been the stupidest question he'd ever heard. „We're apartment-hunting."

„Yeah, I got that. But why?"

House rolled his eyes. „For you, of course. You can't live in that hotelroom forever. You'll have to get your own place sometime. So why not now? Come on, let's look around."

Wilson stood rooted to the spot. He stared at House. When House realized Wilson wasn't following, he turned around and looked at his friend.

„You _looked_ for an apartment, then _made_ an appointment for _me_?" Wilson asked incredulously.

„Well, someone had to do it, and since you obviously weren't, I thought I might as well be the one."

„But, but ... why?"

„House shrugged, his expression becoming stubborn. Wilson knew, House always looked like that, when he was forced to talk about his feelings or personal stuff he didn't want to share. House looked at a spot on the floor.

„The hotel is way to expensive. If you keep living there, you won't have any money left to invite me for lunch." he said, obviously not wanting to give a real answer.

„Riiight." Wilson said in a tone that conveyed he knew something else was up. House kept staring at the floor.

„And you're miserable in that hotel. I mean, who wouldn't be miserable if they lived in a four by four meter room for months."

„It's not _that_ small. And who says I'm miserable there?" Now Wilson was the one trying to hide his feelings.

„Oh, come on. You've been miserable for ages. You stole your patients pot, remember? You're probably even more depressed than I am. You're just hiding it better, most times..." House had raised his head and was now glaring at Wilson.

Wilson glared back, but only for a few seconds. Then he lowered his eyes and shrugged, not knowing what to say.

House continued. Somehow, Wilson thought, this was strangely brave of him, considering how he usually dealt with these things. „So I thought, maybe if you've got your own place you'll lighten up a little. You could actually invite people over again."

Wilson started to smile slightly at that. House was right. It would be nice, to have a real home again. He didn't really know why he hadn't looked for an apartment himself ages ago.

„So, we're going to look around, or what?" House questioned into his thoughts.

„Yeah, sure."

The place was great. There was the big living room, a slightly smaller bedroom with a rather big closet. The bathroom had a real tub, not just a shower and the kitchen was already fully equiped with stove, fridge and cuppoards. When they were finished they met up with the woman in the kitchen.

„So, do you like it?" she asked brightly. Wilson thought it was a little too brightly. He wondered why the apartment was still available. From the looks of it, it had been empty for a while. Which was strange considering it wasn't too expensive, in a good condition and a practically perfect location.

„It's great." House said, looking over at Wilson.

„Yeah..." Wilson said, he really liked this place, but he couldn't shake off the feeling, that there was something both House and the woman weren't telling him. He decided to dig a little. „Why's it still empty?"

The woman's face fell slightly. „Weeeellll..." She stretched the word ridiculously long, as if she hoped, that by postponing the answer she might get him to lose interest in the subject. Wilson glanced over at House, and seeing his friends smug expression, he knew he was definitely on to something.

Turning back towards the woman he raised his eyebrows in an unspoken 'Well?!'

The woman scowled, but continued. The thing is just, well, the former resident... he... kind of, met a rather sudden... end..."

„What?" Wilson asked incredulously.

Before she could specify. House said two words. „Ronny Delano."

Wilson opened his mouth to ask, what the hell that was supposed to mean, then it struck him. „Ronny Delano?" he coughed, after a second of shocked silence.

„Yeaahh." House voice was full of bliss, his eyes sparkling happily. He jerked his head at the kitchen floor.

„Oh, my God!" Wilson exclaimed. He looked around, half expecting to see a huge blood-stain on the floor. There was none, of course. Wilson remembered the case quite well. It had been about two months ago, when the famous mob lawyer Ronny Delano was discovered by his current girlfriend, lying in a pool of his own blood, his head smashed into pulp. The media had been all over the case. The murder was never caught.

Wilson glanced over at House again, he looked genuinly delighted by the fact, that he was standing in the room, where a bloody murder had happened mere eight weeks ago.

„You don't seriously want me to rent a place, where someone has been brutally murdered?" Wilson asked.

„Why not? It's a great apartment."

„In which a person was killed."

„People die in apartments all the time." House rolled his eyes. „If you want to find a place where noone has ever died, you'll be looking forever."

„There's a difference between dying naturally or of an illness and being slaughtered." Wilson tried to sound convincing.

„No there isn't. The result is exactly the same. 'Finito Italia'."

Wilson waved his hands through the air once. He gave up. Into the silence, the woman ventured a question. „So, are you going to take the apartment?" she sounded like she'd given up hope anyway and the question was just to make sure.

Wilson squinted, screwing up his face. „I don't know. I'll have to think about it." he said apologetically.

The woman nodded, resignation on her face. Wilson, feeling bad for her, asked her for her contact-details, so he could call her if he did decide to take the place. Then he practically dragged House outside.

Once in the car, House started moaning. „Why don't you take it? It's perfect!"

„Except for the fact that it's a murder scene."

„Oh, come on. You work in a hospital, you should be imune to people dying and ghosts on the corridors."

„Right..."

It's a good apartment. It's not far from work, it's cheap, Plus it's near my place. You invited me for pizza and movies, remember and I'm not going to visit you in your stupid hotelroom. The building's even got an elevator."

Wilson risked a quick glance at House. „Did you just offer to visit me, if I took the apartment?"

House shrugged. „You invited me first." he said, back to his stubborn self-defence.

„O-kay." Wilson said, trying hard not to smile.

„Think about it, if you throw one of your really boring parties, at least people will have something to talk about."

„Thank's a lot." there was a longish pause. „I'll think about it." Wilson promised.


End file.
